


Little Things

by the_unknown_storyteller



Series: Stories of a Living Ghost (Dream SMP) [1]
Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Emotional Hurt, Existental Dread, Gen, Ghostbur, Hurt No Comfort, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Sensory Overload, Tubbo is here!!, Will add tags as I go, but he doesn't really comfort our ghost boi, who will?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:14:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28275933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_unknown_storyteller/pseuds/the_unknown_storyteller
Summary: Wilbur is dead and Ghostbur fills the place he has left behind, mending the broken relationships he has thrown aside.Wilbur is dead, but Ghostbur is alive in the sense that he gets to experience all the little things his former self may have taken for granted.Talking with Philza about the colour green, stargazing with Tommy until deep into the night and collecting wild potatoes with Techno remind him that he is not that person anymore. That these moments are his and his alone.Nevermind the fact that he can't talk freely, breaching sensitive topics left and right and touching people with hands that can only seem to remind and hurt with memories he himself cannot remember.
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Series: Stories of a Living Ghost (Dream SMP) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2071416
Comments: 13
Kudos: 157





	1. The Sight Of Such Pretty Things

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I've been obsessing over the Dream SMP for the last few days and I wanted more Ghostbur content, so I'm making my own!  
> Since I haven't been in this fandom for long, I barely know any of the histories and I haven't gotten around to binge reading the wikia, so there will be some inconsistencies, I hope you still enjoy though! ^-^
> 
> For context: Phil is in house arrest, Tommy is in exile and Techno is chilling at his Antarctic base

It all starts with Philza. With him and his green-striped bucket hat that ignites an irrational interest in Ghostbur's mind. It's such a nice green, is all he can think, as he walks laps around Philza's living room, mindlessly chattering and rambling on about his day. 

  


His restless hands throw a small piece of lapis that he found the other day from side to side, palming it in his right hand whenever he raises his hands in exaggerated sweeps and gestures to accompany his excited words about his newest project.

  


"-saw it just the other day and I really wanted to build it and Tubbo said he didn't mind it, so I just went right ahead and, Phil, I just gotta say, it's coming along great! Fundy is helping me balance it properly, so that it won't topple over and accidentally crush the main walkways and-" 

  


Ghostbur can hear his father hum every now and then to let him know that he is listening, as he mends the latest rip in one of his green shirts. Green like the stripes on his bucket hat. Both his feet and his words come to a stop, strangely fixated. It's so green. 

  


"Hey, Phil, have you ever noticed how green your bucket hat actually is?" Ghostbur drifts over to his father to get a closer look at his hat, his crane building story forgotten. "Like, it's really green. One might think that, with all the fighting and running it has probably endured, it must have definitely lost its colourfulness. But look!" He raises his hands to frame the hat, as though it were something exceptionally precious. "Still as green as the day you got it, I'm sure!", he exclaims with a grin, his face mere centimetres away from Phil's.

  


"Uh, thanks, I guess." Philza laughs awkwardly, shuffling on his seat. "Never knew you were this enthusiastic about green clothes, mate."

  


"Oh, I'm not," Ghostbur chirps, playing with his piece of lapis, "I just really like yours, especially your hat!" He rubs his thumb over the stone one last time before putting it away, missing the way Phil's smile becomes strained. 

  


"It's funny that you say that. Someone I knew had the exact same sentiment towards green," Phil says softly, pulling the bucket hat from his head, rubbing at the worn fabric. "Especially towards my hat."

  


"Oh, how fun! Who was it?" Ghostbur loses concentration in his excitement and can distantly feel his body slowly float upwards, rotating until he stands upside down on the ceiling. Unbothered, he keeps talking. "Maybe you could introduce us sometime and we could talk about the colour green, about your green! I don't know what-"

  


"I… I don't think that will be possible, mate. It's been some time since I last… saw them," Phil apologizes, his voice catching at the end of the sentence.

  


Ghostbur sinks back down to the floor with a frown. He's done it again. "Are you okay, Phil? Here, have some blue. Calm yourself," he says, folding his hand around the blue he's just placed in his father's hands. He knows he's upset him. He keeps upsetting everyone because he keeps forgetting what is taboo to talk about and what isn't. Apparently, Philza's bucket hat is one of those things. What a shame, he really likes how green it is.  
  
  
___

  


Tommy lets his almost broken axe fall to the ground, before flopping down himself. Sitting next to the small fire he lets out an annoyed groan.

  


"You know, you could have helped me chop down those trees instead of just standing there, watching and shit", he scoffs, picking at the splinters in his hands. All afternoon he had been chopping down tree after tree. Probably for his tower, which was looming behind Tommy in the far distance.

  


Ghostbur gives him a smile, quietly picking at the strings of his guitar, as he ignores his complaint. The soothing melody accompanies the constant crackling of their campfire and the sizzling of the fish above the flames. He starts humming for a bit, letting his gaze wander, and then he starts talking. 

  


"You know, I think you're quite lucky, Tommy. To be out here-", he starts, rotating the fish to keep it from burning. He resumes his strumming.

  


"Wha-?! What the fuck are you saying, Wil-"

  


"Where there is barely any light to taint the night sky", Ghostbur continues, undeterred by Tommy's protest. He repositions his left hand and the song becomes a bit more somber, bringing down the mood of the conversation with the descending chord progression. "I mean, the sky is just so beautiful out here, look," he breathes, tilting his head upwards. He notices his little brother frowning in his peripheral, but he follows his instructions and looks up as well.

  


"And what am I supposed to be seeing?"

  


"The stars, Tommy!" A grin spreads across his grayed out cheeks. The soft strumming stops for a moment, as Ghostbur makes a sweeping motion across the horizon. "The stars." A breath of admiration leaves his empty lungs.

  


"What about them?", Tommy asks, an annoyed tint to his voice. He sounds exhausted. Maybe he should have helped with the wood chopping, actually. Next time, maybe. Because right now, all he can think about is the twinkling and shining of the stars above him. How has he never noticed how many there are? How bright they are?

  


"Are you not seeing the same thing I'm seeing? Look at the stars, the milky way, they're all so incredibly clear out here in the wilderness." A shooting star flies across the sky, making Ghostbur gasp in child-like glee. "Quick! Make a wish, Tommy!"

  


"That's stupid, Ghostbur. I'm not a stupid child, believing in something stupid such as-"

  


"Ah, come on, Tommy. What's the worst that could happen? Just make a wish with me." Ghostbur claps his hands together more forcefully than was really necessary and closes his eyes. He peeks at the boy in ragged and torn clothes next to him, looking more tired and broken than a boy his age should, and mouths his silent wish for his little brother to please, please, come out of this alright. 

  


"Your turn!" He smiles, quietly rubbing at a piece of blue from his messenger bag when he's done.

  


"Ugh, fine," Tommy groans. He claps his hands together and closes his eyes with much less enthusiasm than the former did. His lips don't move along with his silent wish, but Ghostbur trusts his sincerity. Knows that the other can't be anything but sincere in almost everything he does. Whether he wants to or not. After a few moments he opens them back up. "There, done," he grumbles, "happy?"

  


A grin in approval and a nod, making Tommy roll his eyes. A shiver runs down his arms with the dropping temperatures of the night. Ghostbur stands up without a word, dumping three thick blankets on top of the younger when he returns. Satisfied when Tommy is adequately bundled up for the night, he sits back down at his place in front of the fire, picking up his guitar from the ground, and begins to strum yet another melody, more soothing than somber this time. He leans back against the tree log behind him, continuing to play long after the other has finally fallen asleep, only occasionally stopping to throw a log in the flames to keep the fire going. His eyes stay fixed at the stars that are so much brighter than they ever were in any of his faded memories.  
  
  
___

  


The third time he gets fixated on something arguably insignificant, he is with Techno. They're out on a hunt for wild potatoes, since most of his old crops lay abandoned in their old ravine and the few that he managed to take with him long ago were not enough to start a proper farm. 

  


So here they were, quite a few thousand blocks away from Techno's base, where the ground isn't permanently frozen and manages to support the occasional berry bushes and even some wild carrots. When they come across some tall yellow-white flowers, Techno immediately puts down his bag next to them and gets out his shovel. He plows through the dirt, bringing up large chunks with every scoop he takes. They're littered with the beautiful golden glow of potatoes. 

  


Ghostbur floats up to the piglin, watching him check every potato he finds and throw the good ones in his bag. The dirt, damp with recently fallen rain, sticks to Techno's clothes, getting stuck in the fur of his red cape and leaving dirty smudges on his crown whenever he adjusts it. Ghostbur tilts his head, feeling a strangely familiar itch in his hands, urging him to go, go, touch it, touch it now, take it. He ignores it.

  


It's dirty.

  


"You know, I've always been curious, Techno." He picks up one of the bigger potatoes on the ground to keep his hand busy and turns it over in his hand, looking for any faults on its skin. He throws it up in the air a few times, judging its weight. "Why are you so… fascinated with them?" He throws the large potato, which the other catches easily. His eyes drift down to the red of his cape and the white of his fur collar, clumps of dirt and mud spread throughout. He tears his gaze away. "I remember you having a large farm in the ravine and I think I've never seen you eat anything other than a baked potato." 

  


"I do not only eat baked potatoes," Techno protests, picking up his bag and walking towards the next yellow-white flower cluster he sees in the close distance. The ghost follows with impossibly light steps.

  


"I only eat them most of the time," he admits, driving his shovel into the ground. He throws his falling cape back over his shoulder, ignoring the way it accidentally gets dragged through a muddy puddle next to him.

  


"Which is most of the time if we're being honest," Ghostbur remarks with a grin, his hands still itch with the thought of Techno's red cape getting dirty, he's always so careless with it, the white fur is getting ruined. He starts plucking the yellow-white flowers, delighted when he finds a slightly purple variant of it.

  


"Because they are clearly the superior food source," Techno shoots back, throwing the last potato in his bag. He notices that Ghostbur's is still completely empty except for a piece of lapis and the sack full of blue that he is so fond of carrying and handing out. With a sigh, he keeps moving. They change location a few more times, whenever the ground has no more potatoes to give, until both bags are finally filled to the brim.

  


Satisfied with the amount, Techno puts his shovel away and they start the trek back to his base. The sun is only two hours away from setting and they're quite a long way away from home, so Techno picks up his pace, pulling the ghost with him, away from the bees and their nest in the tree.

  


With nothing to preoccupy his hands Ghostbur takes out his piece of lapis, running his fingers over its rough ridges. His crown is smudged with mud.

  


"There is dirt on your crown," Ghostbur points out, looking up at Techno's head with a frown. "And your cape." He picks at some clumps of mud and pulls out a few small twigs.

  


"It's fine, I can just wash it, when we get back." And that's that. Except Ghostbur knows that Techno will just hang it up at the entrance, brushing off the worst of the by then dried mud the next time he has to go out and wear it. How does he know that. Now that he's pointed it out and begun cleaning it, the itch in his hands has grown to be unbearable. This feels familiar. He won't be able to clean the cape right away without any soap or water, he's always so careless with it, never properly taking care, and his crown is dirty with mud.

  


"Give it to me," Ghostbur suddenly demands, extending his hand towards Techno's crown. Why is this so important to me? "Give me your crown." The piglin raises an eyebrow at the demand, but hands over the golden crown with a shrug, curious as to what has the ghost riled up so suddenly.

  


Ghostbur snatches the crown from the other's hand and starts to clean it with the fabric of his sweater. The mud, that has since dried, slowly flakes off and reveals the shiny surface underneath. He almost obsessively rubs at the inlaid jewels, scratching away the dirt. He turns it over a few times when he is done and returns it to his owner with a slight huff. "Please take better care of it next time."

  


Techno chuckles at the ghost antics, but his brows are pulled together and he looks anything but amused. He doesn't hide his small frown fast enough.

  


Ghostbur mentally adds Techno's crown to the taboo list, as they continue walking home. At least the itching in his hands has stopped.


	2. The Scent Of Such Soothing Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somedays, Ghostbur just feels off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be frank, I'm a bit unsure on how I should tag this chapter since I guess it kind of feels like Ghostbur has a depressive episode or maybe a panic attack, but then again, I've never experienced either of those, so maybe I am way off the mark. I usually just write what feels and flows right for the kind of mood I want to convey. Please let me know if this is hurtful to anyone who does actually go through these kinds of things, I don't want to hurt anyone with my stories
> 
> For now, I will add the tags "Sensory Overload" and "Hurt No Comfort", let me know if I should add anything else

Today is an off-day. He can feel it in his non-existent bones and in the tips of his translucent hands. Today is an off-day and the first Blue of the day that he takes from his bag to give to Ranboo turns such a violent blue that he drops it out of shock. He immediately apologises to the other and gives him a new one, carefully wrapping his hand in his sweater to avoid any contact with the stone. In an attempt to hide his blunder, he gives the other a quick smile and then a wave and leaves them to their stone sculptures, ignoring the concerned look of the Half-Enderman. He makes his way across broken paths and past half-finished buildings, big dark clouds looming in the distance with the promise of thunder and rain in the late afternoon.

Ghostbur feels heavy in a way that he can only remember being when he was not-dead. 

Yet he keeps going, talking to everyone who is also awake at such an early hour, helping them wherever they may need him, making deliveries across the server and back. Early morning turns into late afternoon and the server is buzzing with an energy that Ghostbur does just not have today and cannot keep up with. People are running from place to place, talking and laughing in groups of two or three, trading goods at the stalls, sharing food with friends and playing music at the marketplace, creating a dizzying cacophony of sounds and motion. 

There is familiarity to the warm scent of Niki’s freshly baked bread wafting from her bakery across the street and the feeling and sound of so many people talking and walking past in a seemingly endless stream because everyone has somewhere they need to be. And Ghostbur is caught in the middle of it all, neither able to go forwards or backwards and all of it is too much. Too much sound, too many bodies, just too much.

It does not rain, but the dark clouds loom all the same.

For once, Ghostbur wishes that his invisibility potion would make him intangible as well. But alas, it does not, so here he is, making his way through L’Manberg, feeling people brush past him. Invisible, but not intangible. He can feel the familiar weight of his guitar on his back and that grounds him just a little bit, keeping him from floating away. 

Next thing he knows Ghostbur is in a lush garden, with neatly kept flower beds and numerous bees, sitting beneath a tree. He’s surrounded by large clusters of lavender with the occasional sunflower sprinkled in and when he looks up, he is glad to see that the dark clouds have started to diverge, granting the server a bit of sunlight.

A bee floats across his line of sight and when he sees a tiny ribbon attached to one of his legs with the word “BeeInnit” written on it, he knows that he ended up in Tubbo’s private bee garden. Surely Tubbo wouldn’t mind him sitting here a bit to catch his breath. Surely not.

Ghostbur hesitantly leans back against the tree he is sitting under and picks up his guitar from the ground. There is a faint smell of honey in the air. A gentle melody trickles from his fingertips, quiet enough not to drown out the sound of the world. 

With all this lavender surrounding him and the constant background buzz of Tubbo’s bees, Ghostbur can almost pretend that he is about to fall asleep. That caring hands will take him, accompanied by the sweet scent of honey and laughter long forgotten, and pull him under for a few hours, finally granting him the rest that he so desperately craves on days such as this one. 

But they don't. They never do.

___

For some reason, the entire server has decided that today would be a good day to do every chore, task and minor crime in existence. As a result, Tubbo has been up since about one hour after sunrise, awoken by the smell of ash and fire that were coming through his window. He got up, reprimanded their local arsonist, confiscating all of his fire starters and flintstones, and then went on his way towards Niki’s bakery, where he heard that a window had been smashed. After that, he went to Ranboo, who told him that people were vandalising his bear sculptures. On his search for the culprit, he came across Fundy, who complained that people have been taking his redstone. And on and on and on it went all day until late into the afternoon, the downtrodden weather didn’t help his mood, when Tubbo finally had had enough and decided to go to his garden to catch his breath and unwind.

Apparently, he hadn’t been the only one with that idea.

“Ghostbur? Is that you?” Curled underneath one of his apple trees, the greyed out figure of their local spectre sits. Tubbo quietly approaches the ghost, watching what it is that he is doing here with great interest. A small bee bumps against the other’s head, continuing on its merry way as if not at all troubled by this ghostly presence in their domain. Ghostbur does not seem to notice any of this, as he appears to be lost in his own mind. His right hand shifts across the bridge of his guitar, while his left hand plucks at individual strings, calling forth a slow and steady melody, almost hypnotic in nature. But Ghostbur’s attention isn’t on his hands, but rather on something in the far, far distance. He mouths a few words, that Tubbo can’t make out, his eyes shifting over the horizon. Apart from his gentle playing, his dead half-brother is utterly silent. “Are you alright?”, Tubbo asks, crossing the remaining distance between them with a few quick steps.

Those few words seem to pop whatever bubble the other had enclosed himself in, as Ghostbur lifts his head and properly looks at the person standing in front of him. There is a moment of silence, before any words are said.

“Oh, don’t you worry your little head, Tubbo, I’m just fine. I was just admiring your beautiful garden, your bees were kind enough to let me have a look,” Ghostbur says, each of his words echoing softly. He smiles at the other. His hands, which were plucking at the strings of his guitar, come to rest on the ground below him. “I especially like these ones.” He points at the clustered rows of cornflowers, which were just across the tree he is sat under. 

“Of course, you would choose the blue ones,” Tubbo chuckles, walking over and taking a seat next to the ghost, who takes up his plucking again. Recently, there’s been a lot more guitar music in the streets of L’Manberg. 

“Yeah, I guess I would,” Ghostbur whispers softly, letting their conversation fall into silence. For some reason, the scent of the lavender is not as soothing anymore as it was before Tubbo arrived. The faint scent of honey makes him sick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I barely know anything about the map and locations in the Dream SMP and my character knowledge is very limited, both in the sense of who I know and what I know about them, so I hope this wasn't too stupid to read
> 
> Also, my chapter count "drastically" went up from two to five since I realised that I was kind of playing around with the five senses and that my story concept was built on them. I was thinking about splitting them all apart and to put them in my collection instead of a series, but I dunno. I'll leave it as it is for now, since they do kind of belong together in a series
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed! :D


	3. The Taste Of Such Bitter Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eret offers Fundy a family and a home. Something that Ghostbur himself cannot give his son anymore and it feels like he is failing all over again. But he wants his son to be happy and so Ghostbur swallows his pride and forces a smile on his face when his son knocks at the door of his home and tells him that he is getting adopted by Eret. He doesn’t mention that he had been there during their conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay!

It is late in the evening and Ghostbur is running around L’Manberg, lighting the candles in his handmade paper lanterns. They rise higher and higher into the sky until they stop at a certain height, tied to the earth only by thin pieces of string. Up there they would burn and shine for as long as the candles in their middle would hold them afloat. Like star constellations of his own making. Since the beginning of winter, Ghostbur had taken a few days of his week and dedicated them to the making of paper lanterns, making lots of spares for when they would inevitably fall to the ground, soggy from an unexpected rainshower or ruined with spilled wax of burned out candles.

It had been the end of autumn, Ghostbur had been snooping through his father’s stuff (with permission, of course) when he had found five paper lanterns in one of Philza’s chests. They appeared to be quite old, the paper dusty and yellowed with age, the wax of the candles inside them flaking off from the long time of disuse. One of them had the words ‘Wilbur Soot’ written on its side in small neat letters. The decorations were quite lovely, but very clearly made by a young teenager. 

When he had asked Phil about it, he was rewarded with a saddened smile and the told memories of an annual winter tradition that started when he was five. Excited by the discovery of such a happy memory, Ghostbur has spent the last few days making lanterns, roping in his father to help him with decorations. 

As per usual, he is making his rounds to ensure that none of his lanterns have fallen to the ground or were damaged, when he stumbles across a very familiar red tail. He immediately ducks behind the wall of a nearby house and downs one of his invisibility potions, preparing a wooden sign to scare his son. He peeks around the corner of his hiding place with a mischievous smile, but stops at the sight of the person his son is with. It’s Eret. 

Strange, he’s never seen his son interact much with the king. He creeps up on the pair, about to put down his sign, a small ‘boo’ already written on it, when he hears what Eret is saying. He stops dead in his track then, just a few paces away from them. 

“-and ya know, my castle’s gonna have plenty of space and I just, I genuinely think that you are a great kid and you deserve this. You deserve a family and I want to be that family.” The corners of Eret’s lips twitch up into a smile that he can’t quite contain. He brushes his hair out of his face, laughing nervously. “I want to be a part of your life, Fundy. So, what do you say?” He holds out a small stack of papers, already signed with his name in several places, and a dark blue fountain pen. “I mean, Prince Fundy doesn’t sound that bad, now does it?”

Ghostbur has to wonder if the bitterness that’s spreading throughout his mouth is from Tubbo’s failed honeycomb cookies from this morning or from the sight of such pure child-like happiness on his son’s face. He stares at the way Eret holds out his arms for his son. His precious son, Fundy, who is smiling despite the tears and who is laughing in between sniffles and actual sobs, as he takes a few shaky steps forward and gladly falls into the embrace of this man, who will soon be his new father. There is a lot of grinning, a lot of hugging and Ghostbur feels like one of his last tethers to the living world is slipping from his grasp.

The wooden sign in his hand falls to the ground with a clatter, as he flees the scene, not looking back at the happiness that he apparently cannot offer nor give his son anymore. Instead of wandering the surrounding area, as he usually does when everyone is asleep, he spends the night at his brewing stands, going through the repetitive motions of making invisibility potions. He experiments with various materials to extend the duration of his potions, but his mind is elsewhere. 

The knock at his door pulls him from his stupor (his barrel is almost filled to the brim with potions, their duration several minutes longer than his best ones, he may have overdone it). He shuts off the flames and goes to greet whoever is at his door (what time is it anyway). He is surprised to see the furry face of his son. The neutral, almost cold look in Fundy’s eyes remind him that the love Ghostbur has for his son is not returned in equal measures.

“Hi, Wilbur,” he starts, glancing at the last wisps of smoke rising from the brewing stands. 

“Good morning, Fundy,” Ghostbur says in return, tapping at a hidden piece of blue in his pocket. He can see the other hesitate with his words, so he waits patiently, giving an encouraging smile that doesn’t feel like it belongs right now. He knows what this is about.

“It’s already noon, but anyway, listen, Will, I know you have been trying hard as of late to be a good father.” The way he slows at the end of that sentence, putting emphasis on the ‘good’, tells Ghostbur that his son thinks otherwise. “Bringing me back my stuff and trying to include me in stuff, with your whole building project and all that, and you know, it’s been great. Truly great. I can’t remember a time where you were around me this often. Ever.” His tail swishes from side to side before curling around his right leg. “But the thing is… I’m getting adopted. By Eret.” At those words he looks up and stares Ghostbur down, almost challenging him to… to… to what exactly? To protest? To object?

All he can do is stare back, dumbfounded by this revelation that isn’t exactly news because he was there when Fundy had fallen into Eret’s arms, crying with happiness at the chance to have a functioning family once again. The inside of his mouth tastes bitter and it’s not from the new invisibility tincture he tried a few hours ago. 

“Tha- that’s great,” Ghostbur chokes out, gripping at the stone in his pocket. He’s sure it’s a vibrant blue by now. “Of- of course, you need a dad. You need a dad. And I’m just not enough to fill that roll. I’m- that’s fine, it’s great! I’m just… really happy for you.” He gives Fundy a reassuring smile, ignoring the way it feels strained and not at all genuine, but he knows that this is something that Fundy needs and that he cannot give him right now.

“Yeah, it means a lot to me, so… I just wanted to let you know. It hasn’t gone through just yet, Philza needs to approve, but it will- it will hopefully go through next Friday and, yeah.” Fundy nods to himself and then to his father and leaves. Just like that. He leaves and Ghostbur stays behind, left to process what he already knows but finds difficult to understand. 

He stands at the door of his little sewer home, potions bubbling away at his brewing stands from the remaining heat. Fundy needs a dad. He blinks a few times, staring at the space where his son had stood. He steps away from the doorway and fiddles with one of the finished potions. He drinks it all at once, ignoring the bitter taste that’s definitely not coming from the invisibility effect. Yeah, Fundy, Fundy needs a dad.

He steps outside and closes the door with a resounding click.

___

The lingering bitter taste in his mouth is overshadowed by the pain in his chest and the horror in his heart when one week later he finds out that it didn’t go through. The adoption wasn't finalized because Eret didn’t show up. He forgot. Eret promised his son a home and a family, promising his neglected son essentially the world, the life that he’s always wanted, but left him with tear stained adoption papers and another broken promise instead. 

Some twisted part of him is glad. Fundy is his son. He has very few things he holds precious and dear to his heart. Besides friend and Philza, Fundy is all he has. And to see him potentially ripped from his side, it awakens some strangely overprotective and possessive part inside of him that had been dormant for some time and that he would rather not think about. 

The other, arguably bigger part of him feels like he’s failed his son all over again. An invisibility potion later, he is following Fundy through L’Manberg, silent and invisible, not knowing how to reach out, but knowing that he is supposed to do something, this is what he is supposed to DO as a father, comfort his son, who is in so so much pain. So much pain that he’s caused. Now he has the chance to reach out and reconcile, so why isn’t he?

Fundy knocks at Phil’s door and is welcomed with a warm hug and the promise to go fishing. For once, a promise stays unbroken, eliciting joyful tears instead of heartbroken sobs. 

Ghostbur keeps following them, sitting right next to them at the docks. The potions from last night have a remarkably long duration. 

“I GOT ONE!!”, Fundy shouts, showing off his first catch, pride evident in his voice. The pure glee on his face makes Ghostbur’s chest seize up. He can feel a burning sensation, spreading across his face. He reaches up and his hand comes away with tears that are starting to melt through the matter of his being with a quiet hiss. The feeling of static behind his eyes makes it hard to think, but he knows that he can’t stay here any longer.

Ghostbur runs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was really struggling with the order in which to arrange the chapters, but I checked the two videos, this and the next chapters are based on and the dates aligned perfectly for what I want to do, so that's that  
> It's really kind of late and I feel like I'm talking a bit of nonsense, but oh well

**Author's Note:**

> This is going in a different direction than what I was initially thinking, but so far, I'm okay with it, let's just see where it is taking us. I'll put the chapter count at two for now, but who knows how many I'll actually write


End file.
